Jitters
by Aurette
Summary: Can two emotionally underdeveloped people make a complete hash of everything?  Easily. AU, EWE, M for reason. HEA Guaranteed.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** The First Rule of Write Club is… Well, we all know the First Rule of Write Club. However, many of you might not know that the Thirty-second Rule of Write Club is, _'Do Not Buy A Purple Computer.'_ "Oh, it's pretty!" should not _ever_ be a part of the process of buying electronic equipment. Trust me. You will spend more time staring at its dead purpleness, than actually using it to write anything. Thank the Interwebs that I didn't get rid of my old, dying, boring-gray computer when I had the chance. It's held together with duct tape and paperclips, and runs only when I hook it up to the hamster wheel and water the hamster with soy chai lattes, but it allows me to bring you this story.

Okay, now that we have taken care of important announcements, we move onto the next order of business, namely, that this fic was beta'd by **astopperindeath**, and Brit-Picked by my **Hebe GB**. Any mistakes you find are mine, since I am always noodling with them right up until I post.

Lastly, I don't own this, and am making no money off of it. If I did, I might could afford to fix stupid purple computers.

On with our tale…

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><p>:<p>

Records later showed that the wedding had been held on the hottest day recorded in Ottery St. Catchpole's history, since the year 1765. However, the heat was only one of the many minor disasters that had added up to the Worst Wedding in Memory.

Even though Cooling Charms had been the order of the day, Molly Weasley had been nearly inconsolable when it was discovered that the wedding cake had melted into a pile of goo before the first guest had even arrived.

The Mother of the Bride had sat rigidly next to her husband and did her best to alienate nearly everyone, including her daughter.

Before the ceremony had even begun, the fairies had escaped their bindings and taken off, only to be eaten by the doves that had decided to rebel against their symbolism. The birds had madly swooped over the gathered guests in search of their brightly lit prey, defecating on anyone not fast enough to get out of the way.

The buffet table had been overturned in the ensuing panic.

One of the lowest points of the whole fiasco had to be the vows. When Hermione Granger, looking pale and overwhelmed by the yards of tulle that seemed to be strangling her, had choked out a hoarse 'I do,' Severus Snape, who'd been standing next to Minerva McGonagall, had promptly thrown up on his shoes.

Upon seeing that, the poor bride had fainted dead away.

The groom, who'd been preoccupied with laughing at Snape, failed to catch her.

But as farcical as all that had been, everyone that was there later agreed that the most shocking moment of all happened immediately after that…

:

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><p>:<p>

_Eighteen months earlier…_

:

Severus Snape, who had recovered as much as he was going to in the hospital, accepted his award—both the medal and the honorarium—and retired to a small cottage in the Wizarding village of North Kielder, in Northumberland.

It had taken him the better part of two years to fully regain his strength after surviving Nagini's bite, so he kept his life simple and reveled in the peace and solitude.

He settled down to a pleasant, if not slightly dull routine of going for long walks, puttering in his garden of potion ingredients, submitting papers to various journals, and the occasional evening down at his local pub, where he became an irregular. He had one or two friends, two or three lovers, and three or four acquaintances in the village despite his curmudgeonly demeanor.

He was comfortable with his rather unexciting and extremely routine life for the most part.

Therefore, the chiming of his wards on a Saturday afternoon had confused him terribly at first. Aside from Minerva, no one ever visited him without invitation, and she had been by for tea a month ago and was not due to drop by for at least another month.

He pulled open the door and stared for a long moment, before pocketing his wand and greeting his visitor.

"Miss Granger. How… unexpected."

"Hello, Professor."

"I'm not teaching anymore. A simple mister will suffice."

She smiled at him, her light-brown eyes crinkling. "I was hoping I could persuade you to change that. I happen to be in need of a teacher."

He didn't understand why he hadn't simply shut the door in her face. No good had ever come from any of his interactions with one of the Golden Trio. All he could think of was that he was too tired to bother. He invited her into his little cottage, made her tea, and listened with something vaguely akin to patience, as she nattered on about her needs. It seemed the chit had never taken her N.E.W.T.s, and until she was certified in certain subjects, she would continue to be limited as far as advancement choices in her department. Before the evening had even fully set in, he agreed to tutor her in Potions and Defense so she could make Investigative Auror the following year. The Ministry would pay his fee and for whatever books and supplies he deemed necessary.

It occurred to him immediately that he might get the Ministry to cough up the funds for some rather costly ingredients he'd been saving up for with a minimum of creative paperwork.

It occurred to him after he'd shut the door behind her that he must have been more bored with his life than he'd thought.

They scheduled their tutoring sessions for three days a week. She took half-days at work on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays and always arrived promptly at his door at two in the afternoon. She tended to stay until about seven o'clock, although no formal time to finish had ever been set.

He found tutoring her to be nowhere near as annoying as when she'd been a student at Hogwarts. She'd become a poised, witty, and quietly ambitious young woman. He also noticed a streak of fragility in her that he suspected hadn't been there until after the war. Peace always demanded its price.

They got on well enough for the first six months. He rather enjoyed the experience over all. His autocratic manner gave way over time to the more relaxed relationship he'd shared with his former colleagues. He even found himself paying attention when she would blather on about her friends, coworkers, and her lover, Weasley, far more than he'd ever bothered to listen to Minerva, Filius, or Hooch talk about their escapades.

The fact that he had no vested interest in, well, anything, made the occasional bit of gossip less grating than he'd always found it before.

Had it only been a six-month course of study, they would have both walked away from the situation unscathed. They most likely would have remained friendly, glad to see each other at the various galas or affairs the Ministry gave for charity. Perhaps sending the odd Christmas card for the first few years after.

But with her work schedule and the amount of revision she needed after several years away, it had taken a year…

:

She danced into his little cottage, twirled in a circle, and held her hand out, showing off a ruby set with tiny diamonds. He gave it a cursory glance and went back to his journal.

"So he finally asked you. Took him long enough."

He thought the ring foolish. It was too small to be impressive, and most likely so expensive the poor sod would be still paying for it when he was a grandfather.

"Be nice," she admonished with a laugh, dragging out her cauldron and gathering her supplies. "It took time for the dust to settle after the battle, that's all. We didn't want to rush into something that might have just been the euphoria of survival."

"We?"

"Okay, _'I'_. He's rather smug in an adorably 'I-told-you-so' kind of way. I just thought it would be better to wait a bit. I'm mature enough to admit waiting might have been silly."

"Indeed. If my years of experience have taught me anything, it would be that seizing the moment has its benefits. Waiting can be a lonely business."

The silence after that statement stretched, and he looked up from his notes to see her giving him a searching look.

He frowned, but then gave her a little bow. "Congratulations, Hermione. I think the two of you will be very happy together."

"Thank you, Severus."

:

It was in the weeks that followed that things began to change. He didn't know when he first began to feel protective. Certainly, the young woman had found a way past his first line of defense, but he really didn't know when she'd slipped past the second.

He theorized it was when she began to express her fears to him.

She'd lost control of the wedding plans early in the process. Her own parents had started to feel left out and had wasted no time in letting her know it. Snape thought them rather selfish, since it had been their idea to stay in Australia. How were they supposed to be involved from halfway around the globe? Was it really so hard to keep their insecurities to themselves?

:

"Molly is just excited, Granger. You make her sound like a harridan. I've known her for years. She's a rational woman. You only need express that you feel this way, and she'll back off."

"I can't. I don't want to hurt her feelings," she said miserably, thumbing through another tome about the Dark Arts.

"So you let her run rough-shod all over yours? Since when did you become a martyr?"

She just shook her head in wonder.

"Is your mother still screeching at you?" he asked.

"It's more of a shrill whine than a screech."

He scowled. "Gods, why don't the two of you just go to the Ministry and be done with it. You young people always make it seem like the bloody wedding day is the goal, or that tacky dress. It's not. It's what comes after, or it's supposed to be."

She snatched up a text and jerked it open to her bookmark. "My dress isn't tacky," she muttered under her breath.

He snorted and gathered his robes together as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Is it white?"

"Of course."

"Are you a virgin ready to sacrifice her maidenhead to finally be welcomed into society as a full woman?"

"Don't be daft."

"Then I rest my case." He waved a hand. "The dress is a symbol of a way of life that has passed. It's become a maudlin joke and a monument to a foolish waste of resources. Think of it. How much money are you spending on this? What is it really besides a bloody vow and an excuse to throw a party? Just go to the damned Ministry Records Office, and then drag your chums down the pub. Think of the money you could save. It would make a down payment on a house."

She looked back at him with her brown eyes too large in her pale face. "We'll have a house. My parents are giving us theirs. They've decided that after the wedding they won't come back to the UK until we have children."

Snape threw his hands up and turned away from her in disgust. "Lovely. No pressure there…"

She was quiet for so long that he thought she'd started reading. When she spoke again, he had to strain to hear her. "I actually asked Ron if we could. I had an anxiety attack at work, and Neville sent for Ron. When I could breathe again, I asked him if we couldn't just pop upstairs and have them marry us and get it over with."

He grimaced and in a subdued voice asked, "What did he say?"

"Nothing. He just looked unbelievably hurt."

Snape silently shook his head.

:

In the weeks that followed, he became her agony aunt, swept along in all the traumatic stress of a wedding that was still nine months away.

Looking back for the moment when it had all started to go pear-shaped, he knew it had to have been when he'd impulsively tried to do something for her.

What the hell had he been thinking?

He'd made a total fuckery of trying to be a Hufflepuff.

:

He looked up from his journal when the ward chimed. A heartbeat later, she blew in through the door, unwrapped one of her ugly shawls from her shoulders, and dropped her satchel on the table.

"Granger, what are you doing here? You _do _know it's Friday, don't you? I wasn't expecting to see you until Monday."

She sighed and began pulling books out. "I know. But I've had a beastly day, and I really just want to lose myself in my studies for a while."

She looked up and then glanced around the main room of his cottage, as if only now realizing that this wasn't just his place of work, but his home. She looked from the potions bench, to his desk, to the kitchen area and then over to where he was sitting on his couch by the fire. There were only two other rooms, his bedroom and the loo.

"I hope you don't mind."

He took off his glasses and laid them down on the end table, dropping the journal on the couch next to him. "That depends. What constitutes a beastly day?"

She sat at the worktable and propped her head in her hands.

"You know Neville took Hannah to Majorca, right? Well, I was stuck finishing up his report on the Crather case—domestic assault, with kids involved. It was an ugly business. Then Molly sent me an owl to tell me that she went ahead and ordered the pumpkin-colored dresses that I hate. The ones with the big, puffy sleeves I showed you?"

He shuddered. They had been truly ugly.

"I was in the middle of those breathing exercises you showed me, trying to calm myself, when my mum called my mobile. We ended up having a row all the way back to my flat. I got home at the same time as Ron, who was wiped out by the Porcinia Perkins case that he's been working on with Harry. He asked me if there was any dinner, and I just went spare."

She looked up and peered around again, shaking her head. "He'd meant 'was there already something he could reheat for us.' I thought he wanted me to jump up and cook. I'd already verbally eviscerated him before I really heard what he was saying."

Snape unfolded his frame from the couch and walked over to her as she continued to babble.

"I feel like such an arse. I did everything I could to apologize, but I said some stupid things that I don't think he's going to forget for a while."

He picked up her wretchedly tacky shawl. "Were any of the things you said a lie?"

"Well, no. But there are ways you can say things that are a lot easier for someone to hear, you know? I don't think shrieking is one of them."

He dropped her shawl over her head and grabbed her by the elbow. "Did you ever manage to eat?"

"No. Are you throwing me out?" she asked, dragging the shawl off her face.

"No. I'm taking you to the pub."

"Oh," she said with surprise. "Oh, that would be lovely. You're such a good friend."

"I was actually thinking that if I was going to have to listen to much more, I would need a few pints first."

She laughed and followed him to the door. "You can be such a bastard."

"So you've said before."

They headed up the empty lane toward the village, shouldered their way inside The Pig's Trotter, and found a table in the corner.

"Granger," he said after their third round, "this has got to stop. Just marry the boy and let the chips fall where they may. If he cared for you at all, he would see how much this is affecting you."

"I can't," she sighed slumping down onto the table and pushing her last chip around with her finger. "Everyone wants this. Gods, it's become this beast. It has a life and momentum of its own. I swear, Snape, if I don't even show up, they won't notice." She lifted her head up and tilted her glass.

"Ronald would notice at some point later in the night, surely," he snarked from behind the rim of his glass

She snorted into her drink. "I'm not always sure about that. I mean, it's good, but I sometimes think I could be anyone, or even just a hole in the mattress."

Snape choked on his ale. He coughed and slammed it down, splashing some of it into her hair. "Christ! This is getting ridiculous! What do you see in him? He doesn't support you. He couldn't be arsed to stand up for you to his mum, and now it turns out he's a crap lay." He picked up his glass again, drained it, and signaled the bartender, Irving, for another one.

"Oh, don't go all weepy," he snapped in annoyance as her face crumpled. "I know what you see in him. I've spent the last nine months listening _ad nauseum _to what you see in him. I just don't know why you put up with all the other shite. Jesus. It's not that complicated. You like a person, you shag them, and if it's good, you keep them around. When it's not enjoyable anymore, you shove off."

"Says the man famous for his undying devotion to his lost love," she muttered into her glass. It gave her voice a humorous echo.

"Shut it, Granger. I wasted my life, and now I'm trying to impart some hard-earned wisdom." He leaned in close. "The wheel is round already. Don't bother reinventing it; just take my word for it."

"Alright, Wise One, tell me what I should do." She propped her head on her little fist and stared at him with her enormous, laughing eyes.

He lifted up his hand and started ticking off points, a little disturbed by how intently she was watching his fingers. "You should tell Molly to settle her arse down, tell your mother to go get stuffed, tell your partner to finish his own paperwork the next time he wants to take a jaunt, tell Harry to grow a backbone and stop whining to you about his little frigid wife—you are _not_ one of the boys—and tell Ronald to grow a pair and learn how to use them. No, on second thoughts," he flattened his hand in front of her face. "He was always an uninspired student. _Show _ him how to use them. Show him what needs to be done. No two people are the same, what might have worked on his last lover, obviously isn't working on you, and you are a dunderhead for not telling him so."

She laughed and downed her drink. "Actually, there haven't been any other lovers," she said, smothering a burp. "For either of us."

Snape blinked at her. "Oh. Well." He cleared his throat, and scratched at his ear. "In that case, you both might need work. I recommend some reading material and a month spent locked up together doing homework."

He shook his head, pondering how life was wasted on youth. If he had his twenty-three-year-old todger back, he'd be blazing new records for inventiveness. He scowled and drank his ale.

"So is that how it is for you now?" she asked into the uncomfortable silence that followed. "You like them, you shag them, and when they get on your nerves you shove off?"

"More or less."

"Have you got a lady friend now?"

He sighed, annoyed at his own stupidity in bringing the subject up. He'd managed to convey precious little about his own life to Granger since they'd begun working together. However, he conceded that a certain amount of _quid pro quo_ was probably equitable at this point. "Not at the moment. My last lady friend started thinking that she wanted a more permanent arrangement, and since she knew I didn't, we broke things off. That was about four months ago."

"That sounds lonely."

He jerked his eyes to her face and was repulsed by the pity he saw there. "Really?" he snapped. "I would have thought being in love with a woman who treated me like a hopeless puppy for half my life and was dead for the other half would be the definition of lonely. Having a mature understanding with a willing woman is currently my idea of paradise."

"But there's no love."

"Love is a lie, Granger. Anyone can spend time with any other person on the planet, and if they are together long enough under the right circumstances; they will decide they are in love. It's all just window dressing to hide the fact that we are basically animals programmed to cluster up for safety, and reproduce. You should be less concerned about what the invitations look like, and more concerned about whether he's a sound business investment. If you are going to bind yourself to someone for life, I think things like financial harmony, common values, and a vested interest in helping each other reach your goals is infinitely more valuable than what color the bloody centerpieces are."

To his great irritation, her lips started to wobble. "You think I'm foolish for marrying Ron, don't you?"

"Oh, bollocks." He thunked down his empty glass. "Look. You liked him enough to be with him these last—what is it, three years?—and you're willing enough to make a commitment for life. There's nothing in what I said that says doing so is foolish. I just think you are making it all unnecessarily complicated.

"Look at Arthur and Molly. Do you honestly think they were always just a comfortable matched-set their whole lives? If you do, then you're missing the obvious implication of just how many gingers they spawned. They're together, through thick and some gods-be-damned thin, because they work as a unit. They make each other happy, and they meet each other's needs. Ask Molly about her own wedding, see if it wasn't even half as complicated."

He stood up, tossed a few coins on the table, and waited for her to finish her pint.

"You do make it seem like it's become grossly overblown," she said, as they headed for the door.

"It has." He shook his head in frustration, turning down the lane. "Look, ignore my words and go back to your idea of love. You love the fool, anyone can see that, and from what you say, he loves you. The rest is just window dressing. This stress you've been caught up in is not good for your health."

"You're right."

"I'm always right."

"Except when you're wrong."

"Hmph."

They reached his cottage, set back from the road and hidden behind a copse of trees. "Are you okay to Apparate home? You're welcome to the couch."

"I'm fine," she replied. "I'll just grab my books."

"Leave them. I think you should take the weekend to just relax.

She nodded, swaying on her feet just slightly. "Thank you, Severus. I really needed this."

"I know," he said with a smirk. "A night out and a decent shag will cure many ills."

She giggled. "I'm so glad I got to know this side of you, Snape. You really are a cheeky bastard, you know that?"

"I'm content in the knowledge that if you were to spread that vicious rumor about, only Hooch would believe you."

She snorted and tightened her horrid, hand-made shawl around her shoulders, before impulsively leaning up to kiss him good night.

That had been the moment. That was when it had all changed.

It obviously hadn't been intended as anything more than a peck on the cheek, but he'd fumbled it. Friends didn't kiss Severus Snape good night, only lovers.

He'd been caught off guard…

…and turned his face the wrong way.

There is an etiquette to a kiss. Location, duration, and motivation will send a message that words will only ever fail to fully tell. Millimeters, milliseconds, and alcohol can change lives.

Her lips landed on his and stayed for just a heartbeat too long. In that heartbeat, there had been far too much time to register warmth, softness, smell, and the sound of a breath quickly drawn in through her little pointed nose. In that extra moment, before his heart had finished pumping the blood into another chamber, there had been enough time for arousal to flood in.

Hermione drew back and looked at him quizzically as he stared at her, utterly mute. Then, she raised her hand to his shoulder and kissed him again. It wasn't any different than the first kiss had been, it was just as brief, but this second time, he met her half way.

Again she pulled away, and this time backed up a step.

He straightened up and looked away, needing to somehow break free of their actions.

"Right. Well, good night then," she said, offering him banal normalcy with her voice.

He grabbed at it. "See you on Monday, Granger."

She Disapparated with a pop, and Severus walked into his house in a daze of confusion.

:

The next Monday afternoon, she'd arrived after her thrice weekly half-day of work and had begun chattering away as soon as she'd breached the door. She'd moved so swiftly and talked so animatedly, that he had been put in mind of a wild bird trapped in a house and desperate to get out.

It had been more than obvious that she'd wanted to forget the incident in its entirety.

After a weekend spent fretting over it, he was more than happy to oblige.

He'd snapped at her to cease prattling, and assigned her a particularly complicated potion to make in an unnecessarily short amount of time. She'd looked at him with profound gratitude and threw herself into the challenge.

The days rolled by, as texts were lectured on and debated with vigor, ingredients were chopped, cauldrons were watched, charts were drawn up, and the incident was ignored.

But it was never forgotten either.

Bodies stood too close. Hairs tended to prick up. Looks lingered too long. Breaths had come far too erratically.

Most damning were the silences that stretched until one could almost hear the air cry from the strain.

It had been nothing. An innocent goodnight kiss extended in friendship.

She was happy with her Weasley, despite what the stress of the impending wedding would have her think.

He was happy in his life without complications. He didn't want any messes.

So, they soldiered on, ignoring what was happening with quiet desperation as the days turned to weeks… and the nights turned to agony.

:

"Pay attention, now. After forty clockwise stirs, the aconite will start to activate. You need to agitate it for the potion to become viable, and not congeal. Watch the wrist motion." He counted off the strokes, repeating himself for emphasis, "Once, twice, scoop and change. Once, twice, scoop, and change."

She leaned in, going up on her toes to better see his hand, as he bisected the potion before changing to a counter-clockwise motion.

He could smell her light perfume—rosemary and mint, with a hint of patchouli.

"Watch, and you will see the tell-tale blanching that precedes the color change. When that happens—"

She'd leaned even closer, intent on the cauldron, and her breast had pressed against his arm. He was aware of it instantly. The reaction it had on his body was almost painfully abrupt.

Absorbed in the lesson, it took her a moment to notice.

It was only when his hand stopped—when the words choked to a halt in his throat—that she realized what she'd done and jumped back.

He turned to her, no longer able to hide the desire that had been turning closer to obsession with each passing day.

She swallowed thickly, unable to hide… anything.

"Granger—"

Her enormous eyes were filled with guilt and embarrassment. "I'm sorry."

He held up a hand, shaking his head. "I _know_." He closed his eyes and drew a breath. "I know. It was nothing. This is ridiculous. I don't know why it's become so all-encompassing."

"Nor do I," she said with relief. "Well, that is to say, I have my excuses, but no good reason. I think, perhaps, it's just… curiosity."

He nodded. "It's understandable. We've just grown confused, is all. There's nothing to this."

"You're right. It's just wedding jitters."

"False doubts," he agreed. "Stress is making you lose focus, and I… I just need to find a new lady friend."

She bobbed her head manically. "We've grown fond of each other."

He nodded back in accord. "There's a certain pleasure in finding someone intellectually compatible."

"Exactly," she said. "It was just a good night kiss."

"I merely turned the wrong way." He could feel the moisture from the little puffs of her breath and see the pulse race in her long, graceful neck. Had he stepped closer to her?

"I had a rash moment," she whispered.

She was so close, staring at him with searching eyes.

"It was nothing," he repeated.

"Meaningless," she added.

_Madness_, a voice inside his head cried.

He lifted a hand toward her face but curled it into a fist instead. "I can't get it out of my mind," he whispered.

"I can't sleep," she admitted.

"Christ, I want you," he rasped. "I want you right now."

"Oh, gods _yes_..."

With a groan, he leaned down and crushed his lips to hers. There, again, was the almost electric thrill of touch. A jolt that he'd never felt before until that Friday night after the pub.

When her hands slid up around his neck, he lost control completely. He pulled her up against him and kissed her as if his very life depended on it. She tasted of cinnamon from the little sweets she enjoyed, and he swept his tongue into her mouth to capture more.

She clung to him, pressing herself against his body, and making little needy noises in her throat. It nearly drove him over the edge. The next moments were a blur of kisses and touches and a seemingly insatiable need.

There was a pop and a cough, and he dragged his mouth away from hers and blinked. She was crushed against the table with one of his legs wedged between hers. Her hair had been pulled loose, tumbling past her shoulders in wild abandon, and she had a death grip on his robes. Her enticing breasts heaved from the breaths she took as she stared at him with heavy lidded eyes.

He blinked again and turned his head. The potion was ruined and close to igniting from lack of attention. He'd never done such a thing before. Black smoke was roiling across the surface, and even as he watched, another bubble popped, belching fumes.

He couldn't comprehend what had happened.

He turned back to her and watched as she banished the potion and cleansed the air.

"Why are we doing this?" he whispered. "Why do I want you so very much?"

She just shook her head. "I don't know. I haven't been able to put you out of my thoughts for even one moment these last weeks. You've become my obsession."

He leaned forward, and looked deep into her eyes searching for an answer to his confusion. "You love Weasley. There is nothing between us."

"I know," she replied in a voice choked with repressed anguish. "There _is_ nothing between us. We're just friends. You're my tutor. This is stupid and wrong, and I could be fired for spending departmental money to pay my tutor to kiss me. It's idiocy." She dragged her hair back off her head, scrunching her eyes closed. "I love Ron. I want to spend my life with him."

She dropped her hands and opened her eyes. "But none of that means anything when I'm near you," she whispered. "I can't make myself stop wanting you. I don't understand."

He nodded, feeling as if he finally had a handle on this madness. "Escape," he murmured. He stroked her cheek and backed away. "It's just nerves," he said. "You're scared and confused and ground down by the weight of this future you are planning. And I… I care for you, Hermione. I don't have many people I call friends. It's my support you crave. That's all."

He pulled his robes around himself and walked over to the cabinet he kept his whiskey in. "We made a mistake." He gestured at where she was still standing, leaning against the table with her arms around her waist. "Not that; that was just insanity." He poured a measure into two tumblers. "Our mistake was not talking about that damnable kiss. We tried to bury it and let it fester into something that could have been appalling."

He gestured to his couch, and she came over and took the glass he offered. They sat down, and he clinked his glass against hers.

"You love your happy idiot," he said. "And I've never been one to chase women young enough to be my daughter." He shook his head. "This is nothing more than a distraction from the details of your wedding. Your _curiosity_ is only a wish for a bit of escapism. Stress relief."

She nodded silently, sipping her drink and laying her head against his shoulder. "That has a ring of truth to it," she said. "But you are rather mesmerizing, in an utterly peculiar way, so you can't discount the effect you have completely."

He chuckled. It felt so good to laugh in that moment.

"We need to just keep talking, girl. No more long, angst-ridden silences. This was a wonderfully absurd bit of madness, but it was madness nonetheless. What would have come of it? Would you really have thrown over your young man for a few quick shags with me? I don't want a relationship. I don't want the bother of having to please someone else. You would have ruined what you wanted for nothing."

She sighed. "I would have ruined my life with Ron _and_ my friendship with you. I find those two things are the only thing keeping me sane these days."

"I'm fairly sure tonight's events would strongly point to the fact that sanity has gone by the wayside." He nodded at her glass. "Drink up, and go home to your Weasley, Hermione. We'll start over tomorrow."

:

They both felt intensely relieved after their talk. Hermione left, feeling slightly embarrassed, and extremely grateful, and Snape saw her off with a much lighter heart.

:

It lasted five days.

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><p>On to the next!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Spammity!

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><p>:<p>

"See? Right here! Here, you're just flat out wrong!" Hermione flounced up to his desk and waved her parchment like a flag. He didn't miss the sway of her breasts under her rather unconventional robes. It was obvious they were cut for someone else and had been customized for her with a charm. High-necked and long-sleeved, they were rather shapeless and non-descript, but for the fabric, which seemed determined to cling to her every curve. It had been a distraction since she'd arrived thirty minutes earlier. Days of keeping a disciplined mind and an emotional distance were quickly dissolving, leaving him shockingly close to panic.

She threw her essay down, jabbing her finger at his comments. "How can it not be coercion? You are intentionally affecting someone's emotions and opinions!"

He picked up her essay with a raised eyebrow and tossed it to the side, returning his attention to the paper he was writing for Potions Quarterly. "Intent, Granger. Stop being so willfully obtuse. This is not a black or white issue. There are shades of grey."

She reached down and snatched the quill out of his hand. "No, there's not! How can there be? You are just being unnecessarily argumentative and dismissive of my effort!"

He shoved his chair back and stood up, leaning across his desk and staring only at her eyes. Eyes that crackled and sparked with anger and indignation. He found her anger incredibly sexy. She was always so passionate about the smallest things. He was nearly demented with the desire to feel that passion turned on him again. _Stop that_, he scolded himself.

"And how exactly is the Ministry supposed to legislate your wrong-headed ideas? Do you seriously think that every hormonal sixteen year old girl should be sent to Azkaban for slipping a Love Philter to a boy they like? That's preposterous!"

"Now you're going to defend the Romilda Vanes of the world? I cannot believe you would condone such a thing!" She flung her hands in the air and turned her back on him, and he followed the line of her back down to the swell of her pert arse. The lightweight robes did nothing to hide her figure, and he was starting to suspect she was completely naked underneath.

"You call me willfully obtuse when it's you who are being willfully perverse!" she snapped.

_You have no idea _, he muttered to himself as he stomped around the desk, stopping only inches away from her. He took a deep breath and strained toward sanity. "Knowing that it is inevitable behavior amongst desperate adolescents, and that it doesn't serve the public to hand out a mandatory sentence for something so trifling, is not the same as condoning it. In my years, I handed out plenty of detentions for that very same offense. Love Potions are temporary and the effects they create are not real. You're not truly making the person love you, just manipulating their emotions for a while."

"Imperio is temporary! It's still considered an Unforgivable!" She stared at him with far too much emotion on her face for such a negligible issue.

"What is this about, Granger? Are you still angry that Weasley was a victim of a prank all those years ago? I will remind you that incident turned dangerous because of other factors. Had Ronald not been poisoned, he would have recovered on his own."

"That's not it at all. But surely you can see the damage caused by Merope Gaunt's use of them? The motivation is the same, whether or not you are a silly sixteen-year-old or a desperately unhappy eighteen-year-old! There would have been no Dark Lord if there had been no Potion!"

His eyes slipped to her heaving bosom. The lightweight silk offered no privacy for her hardened nipples. When he looked back up, he saw she was staring at his mouth, biting down gently on the corner of her own. Her face was flushed, and her eyelids drooped with desire. His own need flared into an ache that angered him.

"Granger," he hissed, "do you really think your robes are appropriate, considering?"

Her mouth parted, and she nervously licked at her lips. "My uniform was jinxed chasing a robbery suspect earlier. I just threw on a spare robe Neville kept at work rather than be late."

"You shouldn't tempt fate in such a way." His voice had gone dry.

"I was in a hurry to see you."

"I could have waited."

Her eyes slipped down to his mouth again. "I couldn't." Her whispered confession seemed torn from her throat.

He closed his eyes, defeated by her admission. "_Hermione_… "

"I'm sorry," she said in an anguished hiss. "It won't go away."

He scrubbed at his face with both of his hands, opening his eyes and letting her see his own torment. "Granger, I'm not—" He didn't finish because he wasn't sure what he was trying to say. _'I'm not interested?'_ A pathetic lie. '_I'm not good enough for you?'_ A pathetic truth. '_I'm not capable of this much self-control?'_ Simply pathetic, his life had been a monument to self-control since he'd been eighteen. He wanted her. His vaunted self-discipline was only so much smoke in the face of his arousal. _It's just sex, for fuck's sake_, he shouted to himself. _Since when do you let things get this complicated?_

She gave him a look filled with such longing and desire that his restraint snapped with an audible growl.

She let out a wild cry of relief as he crushed her to his chest and kissed her. She clung to him, as his hands raced across the curves that had been taunting him. She moaned into his mouth and pushed against him.

She tore at his clothes, pulling his robes apart and attacking the buttons on his shirt with nimble fingers. He devoured her kisses while grabbing her luscious arse and crushing her against his selfish cock.

He couldn't ever remember wanting a woman as much as he wanted her. He lifted her up and sat her on the desk. "This means nothing," he growled, unsure if he were talking to himself or to her. "It's just fucking."

She moaned and tore the rest of his buttons away to slide her hot hands across his chest. "Good. I just want you to fuck the hell out of me."

He felt all the hairs on his skin stand up at her words, and he kissed her again, sliding his hands up under her skirt. She _was_ wearing knickers, but they were so tiny they put up no resistance. He slid a finger under them and stroked his knuckle down through her folds. She was soaking wet. He tugged at them, and she shifted and helped pull them off. He shoved the little scrap of teal-blue silk into a pocket. Next, he snatched her robes off over her head, pulling her hair out of its loose bun in the process. Perfect.

Seeing her in all her naked splendor shattered the last vestiges of civility. He became a man possessed, nearly attacking her breasts. They were glorious, neither too big, nor too small, and he flicked his tongue across the peaked nipple of one breast while filling his hand with the other and massaging it. She came close to pulling all his hair out as he did.

She reached down and cupped him through his trousers, and he groaned and bucked against her hand.

"Now!" she moaned. "_Now, now, now_…"

He searched out her mouth and kissed her roughly, and then straightened up and shrugged off his robes and ruined shirt. His metal belt buckle clinked as he unfastened it and popped open the buttons on his trousers.

There was no attempt at seduction or sophistication, no tenderness or even much in the way of affection. There had been too much tension, too much strain, and too much disingenuousness already. He just shoved his trousers down, grabbed her hips, and pulled her to the edge of the desk. Her throaty groan as he sank into her nearly ended it.

Christ, it never ceased to amaze him how good it felt to be buried in a woman. He could feel her twitching around him, tight and hot and soaking wet. He began with a quick pace and at her urging went even faster. Soon, he was pounding into her body like an animal, as she shouted at him to go even faster, fuck her harder, clawing at him and leaving marks. It wasn't making love; they were punishing themselves for their folly.

It was glorious.

She fell back in a sprawl on his desk, and he was riveted by the sight of her breasts jiggling from the force of his assault, and just how far around her tiny waist his hands went. She shattered around him, and he stroked through the rippling of her muscles, determined to hold out as long as he could. Her head lolled to the side, her eyes unfocussed, and she just moaned as he rammed into her again and again. It was over as soon as she looked back up at him with something akin to worship in her eyes. He threw his head back and clenched his teeth tight against the scream that tried to burst forth as he came.

He held himself up by strength of will, a crushing grip on her hips, and his knees braced against the front of his desk.

She slowly pushed herself up and clung to his shoulders, her legs still wrapped around him. Her head twisted up, and she kissed his neck, his jaw, the side of his mouth.

"That was…"

"Stupidity at its best," he said, still gasping for breath as his heart slammed painfully in his chest. His climax had been so powerful he'd lost his eyesight for a moment and was still blinking the spots away.

She laughed, a short, sharp sound. "That it was. But it was still pretty amazing." She ran one hand across his sweat-slick chest, and he shuddered from her touch.

He kissed the top of her head. "That it was."

He pulled out and reached for his torn shirt, using it to clean her before finding a dry corner and mopping at himself. "Please tell me you are taking the potion," he said, his voice heavy with mixed emotion.

"Of course."

He sighed in relief and stroked his hand across her brow, down her neck and between her breasts. "Did I hurt you?"

She sighed, her voice taking on a sated, dream-like tone. "No. It was just how I wanted it."

He felt himself stirring again in response and shook his head. This tiny morsel of a woman affected him like no one before. He toed off his boots and stepped out of his crumpled trousers, while helping her down from the desk. He held onto her hand and led her across the room.

"What are we doing?" she asked.

"When you return home tonight, you will realize there are over fifty perfectly logical reasons for why we will never see each other again. We still have a couple of hours this evening to ignore them all and do whatever the hell we want. Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, and I would very much like a mattress involved in round two."

He led her to his bed, and selfishly claimed her for at least a little while longer, intending to sate himself of this folly. He catalogued her secrets, her reactions, her gasps, and mewling little cries, trying to rid himself of the madness in the few hours left.

:

Only it hadn't been just a few hours more. After an awkward and bittersweet farewell, they had both taken a desultory stab at the high road, finding it not much to their liking. When she showed up at his cottage a week later, with her enormous eyes and her lip squashed in her teeth, he didn't say a word until after he'd fucked her against the door. They clung to each other afterwards, fighting for air and gasping out rules.

It was just physical. A break from the stress. A distraction. They meant nothing to each other.

They repeated these things like a mantra.

Their affair had lasted well beyond her exams. In fact, it continued right up until the wedding.

Her relationship with her fiancé remained stable. In fact, it improved. She was more relaxed. Happier. She no longer worried about tiny details. She was a demanding lover, her curiosity extending to areas even he had never explored.

Severus had regular access to a glorious body, a sharp mind, and a generous friend, without complications. She became his addiction. After a weekend spent apart, he would begin to pace a half hour before she was expected to arrive. By the third week, he had enough self-control to lead her to his bed and not simply ravish her at the door or on the couch a few feet away.

They kept it heartless, just so there would be no confusing emotional outbursts, and they were up front about the fact that it would end with a vow. It was as if having a built-in end made it all tidy. They frequently expressed the importance of her vows, while blatantly ignoring the hypocrisy. They created an endless supply of justifications.

The capacity for the human mind to lie to itself is astounding. It's much easier when there are two people desperate to believe the lie.

Betwixt and between all of the carnal exploration had been hours of scholarly debate, many intimate shared meals, an occasional evening stroll to the pub, and even nights sitting out and looking at the stars in silence, while holding hands.

Blinded by the exhilarating delight of their seemingly perfect understanding, neither of them had realized how deluded they were until it was far too late.

:

* * *

><p>:<p>

"Give her air!"

"Back off!"

"Let me at my daughter!"

"Is she alright?"

"Oh, that's going to leave a mark."

"Is this frosting or bird poo?"

"Someone fetch her some water."

Hermione woke up and rolled to the side as her stomach chose an inopportune moment to rebel. She threw up on Ron's dress shoes.

She wiped her mouth on a beaded sleeve and flopped onto her back again, grabbing at her throbbing head.

"Are you all right dear?"

Hands tried to lift her, but she just groaned and curled in on herself.

"Leave her alone! Can't you see she's sick?"

Hermione winced as her mother's tone knifed right through her brain.

"Yes, but she's in the middle of something rather important," Molly said. "The Minister just needs to say his part and then she can have a bit of a lie down."

She sat up with difficulty; too many hands were trying to help. "It's not over?" she asked in a shaky whisper.

"No, dear," her mother said. "But it will only take a moment if you're ready."

"_NO!_" she blurted.

She struggled up, looking around at all the concerned faces. She found Ron and shook her head. "I've changed my mind!"

"_What?_" He stared at her in shock.

"I don't want to marry you! I'm so sorry!"

Molly fluttered her handkerchief at her. "She hit her head, the poor dear. She doesn't know what she's saying."

Hermione weakly batted it away. "Yes, I do." She looked up at the Minister, who was staring at her with concern. "I _don't_! I don't want to marry him! I've changed my mind!"

"When?" Ron asked, as the assembled guests started to back away, murmuring.

"Ages ago. I just didn't know how to tell you." She looked around helplessly, but even her mother was frowning at her in anger. "I didn't want to ruin everything."

Ron grabbed her by her elbow and pulled her to the side, not that it was any more private. "Hermione, is this a joke? Because it's not particularly amusing."

She winced at the hurt look on his face and shook her head helplessly.

He leaned in and whispered in a deadly soft voice. "Is there someone else?"

Hermione's tongue turned to cement and refused to cooperate, so her face told the truth for her.

Ron's freckles stood out in sharp contrast for a moment, before they were obliterated by the amount of blood that rushed up under them.

He let go of her with a little shove and stepped back. "Who is it?" he snapped loud enough for everyone to hear. He whipped around, staring at the crowd until his eyes found a suspect. His face clouded with rage. "_YOU!_"

"Me?" squeaked Neville.

"You're her partner! You're the one she spends most of her time with!"

"Ron, don't be ridiculous." Hermione stepped forward and grabbed his sleeve, but he snatched it away. She turned to Harry, who looked completely confused. "Make him stop before he makes this worse!"

Harry stepped up to Ron, just as Neville defended himself. "No, I'm not. She spends twice as much time with Snape as me. Just what are you accusing me of, anyway? I'm a happily married man!"

Hermione cringed, looking frantically around at the crowd.

Ron stepped in front of her. "Bloody hell, he's right isn't he? That's why the git got sick, isn't it?" Ron spun around. "Where is he?" he demanded.

"He left after he tossed his biscuits," George replied.

"Ron, please!" she cried. "Just… calm down!"

"Calm down? _CALM DOWN? _This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life!" He stared at her with hurt and loss. "I'm going to kill him!" His face scrunched up into bitterness. "And you can just… _go to hell!_"

He Apparated away with a bang, and after she sent him a pleading look, Harry left hard on his heels.

"Oh, bloody hell." Hermione snatched her wand out of her sleeve and spun into a turn.

:

Snape walked into The Pigs Trotter and signaled Irving before making his way to his usual table.

The bartender came up with a dark pint and set it down in front of him. "You look like misery itself, Snape. Where's your little girlfriend?"

"Getting married," he mumbled.

"Ouch." Irving left and came back with a bottle of Firewhisky and another glass. "On me."

Snape nodded his thanks and sipped his ale, turning the bottle of spirits around and around with his long fingers. He sighed and looked around, realizing from the whispers that Irving had already managed to tell every other prat in the place in that short amount of time. Bastard. He returned the sympathetic nods with scowls.

He'd barely taken a second sip when the door burst open and Granger came running in dressed in that white lace nightmare, complete with veil.

He jumped up from the table and met her halfway across the floor, heedless of the excited murmuring going on around them. "What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped.

"Saving your life!" She grabbed his hand and started tugging him back toward the door.

He dug his heels in and pulled her back to him. "Stop talking nonsense! Why are you here and not off dancing with your groom?"

"Because I called it off, and now he's coming to kill you! I left them knocking on your door, but they could hardly have missed me running up the lane in this getup."

"He's coming to kill me?" Snape's brain couldn't make the leap at first, but when it finally did, the blood drained from his face and swelled his heart. "You _told _him about us? _At the altar?_"

She bit her lip. "Not in so many words. He _is_ a detective, you know."

"Bloody hell. It's always the damned Gryffindors. Wait, you called it off? But I heard you say your vows…"

"Yes, and then I fainted before the minister could wrap it up, so-to-speak."

"You fainted? When?"

"While you were busy getting sick."

"Christ. What a pair we are."

She just looked at him and nodded with wide eyes.

The door burst back open, and they both turned to see Ron standing in the doorway with George and Harry flanking him. "_YOU!_"

An excited rumble raced around the room, and there was the telltale sound of bets being made.

"Shit," Snape muttered under his breath. He pulled his wand out of his sleeve and pushed Hermione away with a quiet, "Off you go…"

She didn't budge.

"Ron, stop. You have to calm down," hissed Potter uselessly.

Weasley raised his wand and aimed it at Snape's head.

Hermione jumped between them. "Ron, stop! It's not what you think!"

"It's not?" That last was said in unison by Ron, Harry, half the patrons, and Snape himself, which rather ruined the effect.

"No!" She walked toward the door. "Snape didn't steal me from you. He doesn't even really care for me. I just… took advantage of his friendship because I was overwhelmed and scared. It was meaningless." She sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders, obviously taking on the burden of her consequences. "If you're going to be mad at anyone, it should be me. If you're going to hex anyone," she sighed and dropped her wand to her side, "it should be me."

Snape had barely enough time to throw a shield over her before Weasley did just that. There was a moment of shocked stillness before the bride's face filled with rage.

"You bastard!" she screamed, throwing a hex back at him. "I can't believe you did that!"

"And I can't believe you slept with _Snape!_" Ron screamed back at her, blasting her murderous birds out of the air.

"If you'd just married me at the registrar's office when I asked, I might not have!" she screeched back.

"Might? _MIGHT?_"

Hermione planted a hand on her hip. "Yes, _might_. He's a lot more interested in what I have to say than you ever were. There's a damned good chance I would have slept with him anyway!"

Weasley turned puce. "You want to know the reason why I wouldn't get married at that sodding office? Because if I was going to be fucking stuck with you for the rest of my life, I wanted a bloody big party where I could drink myself blind afterwards! You fucking whore!"

"Yeah? Well, _your_ fucking _sucks!_ At least Snape knows how to please a woman! And he can last for _hours_ longer than you can!"

"You tell him, girly!" one of the village women shouted.

"Oi, Snape! Are you busy Saturday?" another witch hollered, jiggling her ample bosom.

He rolled his eyes and deflected another one of Ron's spells, grabbing Hermione from behind and muttering, "Fucking Gryffindors."

The hex bounced off and hit an innocent bystander, painting the man in Scarlet As from head to toe. Ten seconds later, they had a full-scale brawl on their hands.

Potter was yelling at Ron to stop, while throwing up shields to keep from getting hexed by the now furious patrons.

George was cackling like a madman and throwing hexes at any open target, including Potter.

Irving flew into a rage when his sculpture of a pig's foot was smashed, and started hexing everyone in the place.

Granger overturned a table and crouched behind it, soaking her wedding dress in spilled ale. She threw hex after hex at her groom, who returned fire with extreme prejudice.

Snape stood untouched in the center of the room, looking around and shaking his head. It was bedlam.

He sent out a Patronus, and then belatedly remembered that several of the people involved were Aurors and that anyone who would respond to the call had most likely been at the wedding. "Shit."

He lifted his wand and started systematically stunning everyone in the room with the exception of Potter.

In the ensuing silence, the two stared at each other.

"You stunned Hermione. She's going to kill you."

"Do you think she would have stopped if I had asked nicely?" Snape replied.

"No, come to think of it. She was pretty angry." Harry scratched at his hair and looked around at the mess. "Did you really sleep with her?"

"Why would she lie?"

"Why would she sleep with you?" Harry shot back, shaking his head at this apparent mystery. "Did she really take advantage of you? You know, what she said about you not caring for her. Is that true?"

"No."

"Ah." Harry nodded as if this somehow made it better. He stared down at Hermione, stretched out in her filthy wedding dress with her veil trailing through broken glass. "Does she know? That you really do care for her?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell her?"

Snape sighed. "I don't think I will. She seemed rather happy with the idea that I didn't."

Harry nodded slowly. "Then again, I think she might be happier knowing she didn't throw her life away for nothing."

Snape turned and gave him a direct stare. "Do you really think she threw her life away?" He gestured at Ronald, lying face down in his ruined dress robes, which were now electric pink. "It looked like a colossal mistake to me. She's been miserable practically since the engagement."

"And you helped?" Harry shot back.

Snape sighed. "No. I can't say I did." His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. "But that was my intent, before it all raced out of control." He shook his head, disgusted at himself. "I just wanted to do something nice for her."

He picked up the still intact bottle of Firewhisky off his table, which was the only one still standing. "I assume you can take care of this mess?"

Harry nodded.

Snape waved at the bartender covered in scales on the floor. "Tell Irving to just send me a bill."

He walked out the back door to the sound of several pops of Apparition as more wedding guests arrived.

:

* * *

><p>:<p>

_One year later…_

:

Severus half-listened to his companion complain about the service at dinner as they walked along Diagon Alley. His mind was preoccupied with reevaluating his needs.

Trilla Grabney had seemed like a friendly, warm-natured, mature woman when he would run into her at the Apothecary in North Kielder, but after one evening together, he was discovering that she was instead a boring, pretentious cow.

They were all cows. All the women he'd dated. They had all only ever been ignorant cows.

Except for _her_.

_She'd _ruined everything.

Up until _she'd_ come along, he hadn't particularly minded the dairy farm.

He looked at his date and sighed, wondering again if he was truly this desperate, or if celibacy wasn't half-bad.

He took Miss Grabney by the elbow and guided her around a knot of younger revelers, automatically searching the group for _her_ face.

He always did these days.

He hadn't seen her since her nightmarish wedding day a year ago. He'd heard from Minerva that she'd left the country the very next day. No one saw hide nor hair of her again until the gossip pages started reporting Granger sightings around London a month ago.

Not that he read the gossip pages—Potter had arrived on his doorstep asking if she'd been by as soon as _he'd_ read them.

Severus had spent days waiting for her to show up.

She hadn't.

After that, he'd invented a thousand excuses to pop into London, keeping an eye out on the off-chance he might see her.

He never did.

"Did you hear what I said?"

He turned and looked at his date. "Hmm?"

Trilla huffed. "I said, 'I don't see why they took such exception to being given a better Béarnaise sauce recipe.' Honestly. One would think they would take advantage and chose to improve themselves. I'm going to have to write to all my friends and tell them to avoid the place in the future. You watch, they will owl me and beg me to help them within a fortnight. Don't you think?"

He made a noise that could be construed as active participation and continued to watch the other people out strolling on a Friday night.

A slight figure wearing a cloak with a deep hood darted out of an alley and up to the entrance of the bookstore just ahead.

When he saw the delicate hand push against the door, he stopped.

"Is something wrong?"

_It's just a hand._ "No." _It could have been anyone's hand._ "Nothing's wrong." _I've kissed that fucking hand._ "I think I saw an old acquaintance." _Hell, I've licked that bloody hand_. "Would you excuse me?"

"What? Where are you going?"

"I won't be but a moment."

He hurried to the entrance of Flourish and Blott's and pushed the door open, darting his eyes around the shop. People saw him and immediately found other aisles to peruse as he stalked through the stacks looking for a slender woman in a brown cloak.

He found her in Translation Spells.

"So you _are_ back," he said in a quiet voice.

She whirled around, and he watched as fear, relief, fear, excitement, fear, and finally simple awkwardness flashed across her face with lightning speed.

"Hello, Severus."

His stomach dropped at her formal tone. "You look well," he said. "Tanned, I see."

"Corsica."

"Ah. On holiday?"

"No. I live there now."

He nodded, wondering what on earth to say next.

She cleared her throat and looked around nervously. "My parents asked me to oversee the sale of their house. I've been staying there while I got it up to snuff for the market. I leave again next week, and thought I would look for some spells to improve my language skills. I still have some difficulty."

"I see."

They stared at each other in an excruciatingly uncomfortable silence for a full minute. "Well, I won't keep you then," he said. "It's good to see you again."

He turned and walked away.

"Is it?"

He stopped and angled his head to the side. She'd followed him the short distance.

"Is it good to see me again?" she asked in a quiet voice.

He turned back to her and shook his head. "No. It's been my greatest wish for nearly a year, but now that I have…" He sighed. "Have a good life, Granger."

He whirled away and stormed back towards the exit feeling like an utter fool. Daydreams and idle fantasies about his reunion with her had somehow never included a complete loss of dignity and a cowardly retreat. Nor, had he expected the constant, howling wind blowing through his chest to actually get _worse_.

Once out in the street, he sucked in a deep breath and exhaled.

"There you are! I can't believe you just left me standing out on the pavement. Honestly, how rude of you!"

Snape turned his head and stared at the woman he'd almost thought interesting enough to throw a leg over.

"Irving said you were a man of refined tastes, but I must say, Mr. Snape, that my impression of this evening is subpar at best. _Subpar_," she repeated, stabbing him in the shoulder with a stubby finger to emphasize her point.

"Oh, go to hell," he said with a tired voice. He twisted in place and Apparated away.

He was halfway up the walk to his cottage when he heard the pop behind him. He spun around to tell Miss Trilla Grabney exactly what she could do with her fucking Béarnaise Sauce when he saw Granger standing there with her hood thrown back and her face a mask of anger.

"Have a nice life? _Have a nice_ _LIFE?_" She stomped up to him and threw her arms wide. "What the fuck was that?"

"What the hell did you want me to say?" he snapped back, his bitterness igniting into fury. "If you had wanted to see me, you would have. You've been back for _a month!_ In fact, if you'd actually _cared_, you wouldn't have blazed a path out of the country the next fucking day without so much as a thanks for the ride!"

"If I actually—You _numpty!_ I was fired for misappropriation of funds! I lost all of my friends! My own parents wouldn't speak to me for six months! _I was a pariah!_ _You're_ the one that left me lying in a puddle of ale. You didn't _want_ a fucking relationship! 'No complications! Nice and tidy!' " she mimicked in an annoying sing-song.

He sang right back at her. " 'I love Ron, I want to spend the rest of my life with him!' And then there's my personal favorite, 'It's not what you think, I was just overwhelmed and scared!' "

"You always said it was just fucking!"

"And _you_ said it was meaningless!"

_"I lied!"_

_"WELL, SO DID I!"_ he roared, shocking himself.

They stood there, staring at each other in furious confusion.

"I lied to myself," he whispered.

"I lied to _everyone_," she replied, shaking her head. "Oh, Christ. What a pair we are."

His eyes slid closed, and he took a deep breath. "Granger, would you… like some tea?" He cringed at how spineless that had sounded.

She nodded, her enormous eyes glistening with unshed emotion, and he nearly sagged to the ground. He held out his hand, and when she placed hers in it, he gave her a timid smile and led her to his door.

Once inside, she grew still, and he watched as tears spilled down her cheeks. "I didn't think I would ever see this place again. I've missed it."

He sighed and looked around. "You're welcome to come more often, if you'd like." Realizing his words sounded daft, he sucked in a deep breath and held it. "In fact—" he exhaled, "—I'd like it very much if you would never leave again."

He closed his eyes and turned his face to the wall, feeling like a fool. "I'll put on the kettle," he blurted, darting across the room. He grabbed up the kettle and filled it with water, all the while screaming at himself in his head. The thing of it was, he had no idea what he was screaming.

"Severus?" He jumped. He hadn't heard her follow him. "Could we start over?"

He closed his eyes, set the kettle down, and turned to her. "I don't want to." He held a hand up before her impending reaction grew force. "Starting over implies forgetting the past. I don't want to forget any of it. I'd much rather move forward. Perhaps with a bit less self-delusion this time."

She gave him a wobbly smile, and he pulled her into his arms, pressing her against the hole in his chest and finally stopping the howling wind. "Hermione, I want you back. I never wanted you to go. Watching you marry that fool was more than I could take. But we'd lied to each other for so long… I didn't think you really wanted me."

She nodded. "I was _sure_ you didn't want me. In fact, I was sure you were angry with me. I _had_ managed to make everything fairly messy there at the end. I have no idea why I let it all get so out of hand." She brought a hand up and scrubbed at her eyes quickly, before wrapping it back around his waist as if afraid to let go for too long. "I was already struggling with my feelings for you before that stupid first kiss. I should have just ended things with Ron then. Instead, I just became some sort of incredibly selfish and demented flobberworm."

He sighed and hugged her tighter. "Obviously some of your flobberworm tendencies stuck. How could you think I didn't want you after I vomited during your vows?"

She barked a laugh. "At the time? I was too busy hyperventilating to think clearly. Later? Well, like you said, we'd both been so good at lying to each other…"

He nodded. "Can we not do that anymore?"

She let out a musical giggle that made his own lips twitch in a smile. "Absolutely. In fact, let's be perfectly honest with each other right now. I love you."

"I love you, too," he blurted without a pause. He went still, realizing he'd never said those words aloud before. He quirked a small smile, feeling the hole in his chest seal shut.

"That was easy," she said with a small hiccoughing laugh. "Let's try another one." She looked him in the eyes with an impish smile on her face. "Do you really want tea?"

He raised an eyebrow. "No. I really want to drag you to bed and shag you blind."

She grinned. "Good. Because that's really what I want too."

He smirked, and she whooped as he lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

"Why did it take a year for us to have this conversation?" she asked over his shoulder, as he pushed open his bedroom door with her feet. "It's not even ten minutes since we saw each other and we're already headed to bed."

"Are we still being honest?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she replied.

"Because you're a dunderhead."

She squealed in indignation as he kicked the door closed behind them.

:

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><p>:<p>

_Another year later… _

:

"I do," Hermione said confidently, looking chic in her blue trouser suit.

"Obviously, I do as well, or we wouldn't be here. Can we move this along?" Snape drawled, wearing his usual black robes.

The woman behind the counter at the Ministry Records Office in Corsica pressed her lips together and scowled. "Fine. I now pronounce you man and wife. Kiss her, and sign here."

Irritated at even this little bit of silly ritual, he pulled his new wife up against his side and pecked her forehead before snatching up the quill.

Hermione giggled. "You really are perverse, you know."

"You have no idea," he drawled, handing her the quill.

She scrawled her name on the parchment and dropped the quill on the counter before turning in his arm and looking up at him. "Oh, yes I do," she replied in a husky voice. The look in her eyes shot through his body like live current. "That's why I'm standing here."

He smiled. It might be silly ritual, but it had just made this woman _his_. That knowledge made him swell with a possessive pride. He leaned down and kissed her, accepting the promise in her eyes and making unspoken promises of his own in retaliation. Hermione turned boneless in his arms.

A cough interrupted them. He smirked at the blushing woman behind the counter before grabbing his wife's hand and dragging her off to start their future.

:

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><p>I do hope you enjoyed! I should have another along in a week or so...<p> 


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